Thoughts of a Gypsying Fantast

When the lights are now out At the fall of the curtain, When the singing and dancing are over And only the shadows and silence are certain, I take off my fancy and happy mask. I go home to my desolated room And battle with my personal demonic creations- The dead past, I endeavour to exhume. They think me jolly and full of life, But deep is the wound from the invisible knife.

When my gaze rested on those lights that night, an uproar commenced in my chest. It was my dear heart, indulging again in its violent inclination. So I reprimanded the insolent miscreant. "Peace, beloved pumping machine! What roguery suffers thou to such an indecorous effervescence?" said I. "The lights, my lady! The lights!" it hissed in its excitement. "Aye, what about the lights? Doth reason abandon thee upon seeing the ravishing spectacle?" "Nay, my lady. It harks back to a certain notion that allows me to feel that those that I desire are tangible and within my grasp," the belligerent organ in my chest declared. I befriended silence. Every inch of rancor I conceived for my poor defenseless heart melted and was replaced by pity. "Alas! To ache for a thing such as I is no longer a necessity, dear lady," it suddenly stated. "I resolved to keep pumping for those I longed for. I shall halt someday yet know that the l